


girl, quit playin'

by thememoriesfire



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thememoriesfire/pseuds/thememoriesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Taylor; Future AU!  Quinn is 27; Jesse is Beth’s fifth grade teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	girl, quit playin'

Of all the people she thought she  _might_  see again, years after high school, Jesse St. James was pretty low on the list.

She should’ve probably expected it on some level, because he always  _had_ been Shelby’s favorite, and after the whole Finn Making Out With Rachel debacle during nationals in their junior year, he’d disappeared altogether.  

Not that she’s ever given this much thought, but she guesses that she figured that he’d trudged back to UCLA with his tail tucked between his legs, or just struck out into Broadway on his own.  

What she didn’t figure on was that he’s Beth’s fifth grade teacher, and now sitting at Shelby’s kitchen table, ready to have a serious meeting about a certain obstinate, temperamental and troubled ten year old who is glaring at her from the other side of the room..

“Hello, Quinn,” he says, giving her one of those smarmy half-cocked smiles that ten years apparently hasn’t gotten out of his system at all.  “Good to see that the West Coast has kept your fresh.  Mostly, anyway.”

She immediately feels like she has two choices: she can either act like a seventeen year old and glare at him head cheerleader style, but given that her daughter’s in the room, mimics everything she does anyway, and she’s trying to be a  _positive_  role model and not nurture a second generation of bullies, choice two is probably for the better.

“Jesse.  It’s—oh, wow. Is—is your  _hairline_  receding?” she asks, pressing two fingers against her lips and putting on her best shocked face.

His eyes widen, his hands reach for his hair, but then pause on the way up, and—to her surprise, he laughs.

“Well done.  I was kidding, obviously.  You’re stunning, as always,” he says, much more easily, and then picks up some of the papers on the table when Shelby turns back around with two mugs of coffee.

Beth balefully stares at all three of them when Shelby finally sits down.

“I didn’t  _mean_  to set my locker on fire,” Beth sulks, right as Quinn takes a much-needed sip.

It goes flying all over Jesse’s sleeve, but really: why isn’t  _Puck_  the one dealing with this?

*

She heads outside for some air after the first fifteen minutes of the most awkward conversation ever, and then jolts when Jesse shows up and stands next to her.

“Accidental arson, huh,” she says, rubbing her hands together.  “That’s—”

“Not too dissimilar from egging someone for the sake of proving a point, or slashing their tires,” Jesse says.  “And besides, I find it hard to believe her father hasn’t—”

“Yeah,” Quinn sighs.  “Of all the things for her to inherit, it had to be  _his_ personality.”

“At least she got your looks,” Jesse says, shoving his hands in his pockets and peering down the drive.

It should be an uncomfortable silence, but it isn’t really.  She finds that she doesn’t want to ask him any questions about how he ended up being such a big part of her kid’s life, and instead waits for the obvious: a question about Rachel, who is never mentioned in Shelby’s house. Too much regret, and anyway, if Shelby wants to know how she’s doing, she just has to pick up a copy of Playbill.

“So, Shelby tells me you’re in advertising,” Jesse says, without warning.  “I have to say, I’m not entirely surprised, but I always thought you’d go into that industry from the opposite angle.”

“I’m sorry?”

One hand leaves his pocket and gestures at her. “Modelling. You know. The ultimate face-first accomplishment.”

Quinn laughs dryly without wanting to.  “I’m sure I deserve that on the basis of ten years ago, but—some of us grew up since then, Jesse.”

“You are  _far_ too defensive,” he tells her, point blank.  “What, exactly, is the appropriate way to compliment you?  Because that’s what that was.  A compliment.”

She scratches at her cheek for a moment and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  “Sorry.”

“Not that you weren’t intensely shallow at age seventeen.  Did you  _really_  cry about not winning prom queen that night?” he asks, before raising his eyebrows at her. “At least I can admit that my fixation on show choir nationals was at best stupid, and at worst really unattractive.”

“It wasn’t about winning,” she says, and unwillingly thinks about Beth.  “It was about feeling good enough.”

“And do you? Now?” he asks, pointedly.

She glances back at the house, where raised voices are still filtering through the closed doors; it’s enough for her to get some terrible flashbacks to her own childhood.

“Working on it,” she says, before fishing out her car keys.  “I’m going to go.  Check in.”

“How long are you here for?” Jesse asks.

Quinn shrugs.  “I took two weeks, but I can work from anywhere, so—.”

Jesse whistles low.  “You might have to.  I sort of softened the blow in there because you know how Shelby gets in the face of bad news, but—Beth’s really struggling with her sense of self, you know.  She doesn’t feel like she belongs anywhere.  From what I’ve heard, there’s a lot of similarities to … well.  You might want to have a talk with her about the birds and the bees sooner rather than later.  Unless you also see some poetry in history repeating itself, which—”

The urge to slap him is back abruptly and overwhelming.  “She’s  _ten_.”

“Times have changed, Quinn,” he says, dropping all blitheness immediately.  “You were what, barely sixteen?  That’s like being twenty now.”

She exhales slowly and says, “I’m not her mother, so if anyone needs to be told this—”

“It’s Shelby.  Sure.  But now you’re just battling logistics. What do you think Beth thinks when she looks at you?  I mean, she might as well look in a mirror,” Jesse says, before pinching his nose and shaking his head.  “Look—whatever impressions you have of me are obviously as lacking in validity as mine are of you. I’m not accusing you of anything, but if you are here to pretend that you’re  _not_  her mother, you’re not going to be of any help.  I’d rather deal with you than with Noah Puckerman, but—”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she says, glaring at him just once more before heading back to her rental.

The GPS guides her to the Raddison without any issues, and she checks in and heads upstairs to check her email.

Work calls, as always, but she has bigger things to worry about now, and fires off a quick message to Puck and Chelsea that is basically the biggest lie she’ll ever tell.

 _Shelby’s just being dramatic.  Everything’s fine_.

Puck might know a thing or two about arson, but good girls who implode after working too hard on being good?  Yeah, that’s always going to be more her specialism than anything else.

*

Shelby calls the next morning and says that Beth’s heading out to a friend’s, but Jesse asked to have lunch with Quinn on her own.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says.  “I don’t know what he wants, but if he starts ragging on your parenting—”

“I’d wish him the best of luck, because  _Uncle Jesse_  is as much a fixture in her life as anything. He just wants to talk to you, Quinn,” Shelby says, sounding exhausted and weary of the entire situation.  “And I just want my kid back the way she was.”

 _Yeah, well, good luck with that,_ Quinn thinks, but sighs and says, “Is there a Chipotle around here anywhere?”

Shelby laughs.  “You’re taking  _Jesse St. James_  to Chipotle?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” Quinn asks, flicking through her work email delete button first and then shutting her laptop altogether.

“Sweetie, he’s made a reservation for you at one of the nicest restaurants in the city.  And if you’re the person I always thought you were, you’ll pick up half the tab, because that’s almost a quarter of his paycheck at the teacher rates.”

Quinn blinks furiously a few times. “Okay, I’m sorry—we’re going fine dining to talk about… _Beth_?”

Shelby laughs.  “Hey, you can take the boy out of the theater, but you can’t take the theater out of the boy.”

It sounds glib enough to not mean anything, but Quinn was there when Jesse still sang all the time, and there’s obviously a story there that’s not being told.

It’s not that she cares, exactly.  It’s just that curiosity is a hard thing to clamp down on completely.

*

The Diamond Grille is like something out of the Godfather series; she half expects Jesse to be toying with a cigar when she spots him, but instead he’s just reading the menu with his napkin already tucked in the front of his t-shirt.  

The only thing about him that hasn’t changed much is the leather jacket; that’s still present, but even his hair—still the best part of him, easily—has been cut shorter than she’s used to seeing it.

“Oh, good.  I thought you’d gotten lost,” he says, when he spots her.  He doesn’t get up to pull out her chair, and weirdly, she actually kind of  _likes_  it.  

“Didn’t worry I was going to stand you up?” she asks, pulling the chair back towards the table.

He just laughs at her and says, “What can I get you to drink?”

“How serious a discussion is this going to be?” she asks, because—well, the answer is actually scotch on the rocks either way, but she’d like to at least  _pretend_  she can handle talking about Beth without being mildly intoxicated.

The open adoption hadn’t been her idea, but she’d also been self-aware enough to realize that shotgun decisions taken at age sixteen might not be the best thing, and this way she’d have options.

She’s seen Beth about five times, always on visits home, and always for a short amount of time. Now is the only time she’s even thought about how damaging that might’ve been, but—

“It’s pretty serious,” Jesse says.  “I wouldn’t say… Nationals serious, but Regionals serious at the very least.”

She snorts unwillingly.  “Really.  That’s the measurement of these things?”

Jesse levels her with a serious look.  “She’s not in trouble yet, but as I said—”

“Yeah, I know,” Quinn says, and sighs before saying, “Scotch.  On the rocks.”

His lips quirk at the order, but he flags down a waiter and places it without further comment.  That’s a first; Puck calls it her dude drink, Finn just always tried to order her wine coolers instead, and even Aaron, her last real boyfriend, at least once asked why she couldn’t just drink wine like a normal person.

The truth is that it’s hereditary, like most things; she drinks scotch to remind herself to not turn into her mother, and thus far it’s worked pretty well.  Except for the part where her own child is apparently not doing any better than she is, and that’s with her trying so damn hard to keep her issues at bay that—

“Is this my fault?” she asks him, plainly, without looking up from the menu.  The seafood all looks appetizing, but she’s not hungry.

“Is what?  Her attitude problems?” Jesse asks.  

“Whatever you want to call them.”

He puts his menu down on the table and folds his hands together while looking at her with a frown.  “It’s not uncommon for adopted children to start to feel out of place.  So, is this in part because of your choices?  Yeah.  But that doesn’t mean you did the wrong thing.”

“Not even by opting to stay in her life?”

Jesse levels her with a probing look.  “Is that what you think you are?   _In_ her life?  Because you’ve met her what, four times?  And send her birthday cards and expensive presents that make Shelby feel like she’s not doing right by her?”

It’s innate, her desire to bite back.  “It’s not my fault she doesn’t earn as much as I do.  I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am.”

“And she’s worked her ass off to give Beth a good life,” Jesse says, before smiling wryly.  “So you know, it stings a little that whenever Beth mouths off about something, it always ends in  _you’re not even my real mother_  these days.”

It’s like a slap in the face, and Quinn knows she’s paling on the spot.  She doesn’t have her poker face on much these days; not unless she’s in business negotiations, and an apologetic look crosses over Jesse’s face.

“I’m sorry.  It’s not that it’s not true, but there was probably a better way to tell you,” he says.

She swallows hard and then looks up in relief when their drinks arrive, drinking half of hers on the spot.  “It’s fine.  You don’t need to cushion the blows.  I’m not Rachel.”

He chuckles at that, and then says, “You think  _Rachel_  would’ve cried about not winning prom queen the way you did?”

Touche.

*

The lunch is mostly awkward.  The food’s excellent, but it tastes rubbery anyway because no matter how Jesse tries to mask them, the insults and judgments about Beth keep coming and flying.

“You can’t be  _half in_  with a kid this age.  Either you become someone real to her, or you stay out of her life,” he finally just says.

“Someone real.  What, like  _Uncle Jesse_?” she asks, snidely.

He narrows his eyes at her and says, “She knows I’m not related to her. I’ve also been babysitting her since she was three, so really, I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

The idea of Jesse minding a child almost breaks her brain altogether, but then he’s a  _teacher_  now, and before she can help herself she says, “Why are you even here?”

He glances down at the table,at their empty plates and almost finished drinks, and says, “Right now, I’m here for Beth.  And we’re not digging up the past just because you’re understandably fascinated by my life story.  I get it, but that doesn’t mean this is any of your business.”

She bristles.  “The only thing about you that fascinates me is how it’s possible that you don’t get slapped in the face all the time.”

He smirks.  “Who says I don’t?”

What an asshole.

*

She heads over to Shelby’s after he insists on picking up the tab, and watches as Beth stomps up the stairs and slams her door shut as soon as Quinn’s set foot in the foyer.

Shelby sighs and says, “Sometimes, when I really can’t help myself, I wonder how it’s possible that you gave birth to her and yet she completely takes after …. well.”

Quinn exhales slowly.  “Yeah.  It’s uncanny, isn’t it.”

“How was lunch?”

“Uncle Jesse is a …. word I won’t say when I’m not entirely sure if she can hear me,” Quinn says, before rolling her eyes.  “I don’t know  _how_  you put up with him.”

Shelby smiles faintly and says, “A lot of him is just posturing.  And he honestly hasn’t been this abrasive in years.  It’s probably the fact that you knew him back when he was on track to success.”

Now that she doesn’t have to give Jesse the satisfaction of admitting that she’s curious to  _him_ , she feels a little better about giving in to her curiosity.  “Yeah.  About that.  Why isn’t he off starring on Broadway?”

Shelby’s smile falls and she says, “It’s not my story to tell.  But you need to believe me when I tell you that he has Beth’s best interests at heart, and he sees more of her than I even do these days.  Okay?”

Quinn doesn’t know nearly enough about life in Akron to protest that sentiment, and ends up just shrugging and glancing at the stairs.  “Do you think I should—”

“If you’re ready to be yelled at, by all means,” Shelby says.  “I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Thanks,” Quinn mumbles, and takes the stairs with leaden legs.

*

It takes five minutes of bartering for Beth to even un-barricade her door, and even then, Quinn is left awkwardly standing while Beth’s splayed out on the bed, staring at the duvet.

“It’s not cool to say to Shelby that she’s not your mother,” Quinn finally says, softly.

Beth glances up at her and says, “Why not?  It’s not like it’s not  _true_.”

“You say it because you know it will hurt her.  Not because it’s not  _true_ ,” Quinn counters.

Beth glances away again and mumbles, “Whatever.”

This is worse than facing down Sue Sylvester after gaining a pound, but Quinn counts to five in her head and pushes onwards.  “Beth, I just gave birth to you.  The person who has been taking care of you for the past ten years  _is_  your mother.”

Beth’s little face tightens, but she doesn’t say anything.

“The fact that you’re not with me has nothing to do with whether or not I care about you,” Quinn finally adds, in the most awkward silence of her life.  “I just wasn’t ready to keep you, and you  _know_  that.  I know you talk to Puck about it—”

“ _Dad_ ,” Beth says, emphatically.

“I—what?”

“I talk to  _Dad_  about it. Because he calls once a week, and he lets me call him Dad, and my mom doesn’t care, because they both actually care about me.”

Quinn bites down on the inside of her cheek to not say anything else, and Beth finally levels her with an uncompromising expression that she’s seen in the mirror a few too many times.

“You’re just Quinn.  You send me stuff, and sometimes you show up, but you’re going to leave again and you don’t know anything about me.  You don’t even know which thumb I used to suck on, or who my favorite singer is, or what my favorite movie is.  You don’t know  _anything_.”

The shock is too overwhelming for Quinn to counter with the fact that she _does_  know these things.  The reality is, maybe she does, but she came by them the wrong way; sneakily, through a back door offered by Shelby.  She doesn’t even know  _who_  she was protecting by staying at a distance anymore: herself or them.

“If that’s how you feel, why would you ever tell your mom that she’s—”

Beth doesn’t say anything; just makes a noise and then jabs her little hand at the door.  “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Okay,” Quinn says, quietly.  “But—I’m going to be around for a while, so if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Beth says, sullenly.

When the door closes behind Quinn, the soft click sounds like a gunshot.

*

She calls Santana that night, after half a bottle of scotch, and says, “When did everything good I try to do become the wrong thing?”

“Q, you know she’s just acting out because ten is a shitty age.  I mean, look at what we were doing back then; sneaking out of church to go make out with boys just because we wanted to be rebellious.  She’s just— _struggling_.”

“Yeah, well, she loves her Uncle Jesse and hates me,” Quinn says, flopping onto her back and rubbing at her eyes.  Self-pity isn’t the most attractive quality she has, and she  _hates_  when it comes out.  It’s always around Santana as well, which is the worst, because Santana has fuck-all patience for it.

“Maybe that’s because Uncle Jesse actually does shit with her, and you just do what my parents did their entire lives.  I know you mean well, but Micah and Rose have more of a parent in you than your own girl does, and that’s got to suck for her,” Santana says.

The sound of the twins being chased off to bed by Brittany carries through the phone, and Quinn’s instantly so homesick that she’s almost nauseous with it.  Maybe it  _is_  weird to construct a family out of her gay best friends and their kids, but it’s what she has, and she wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“It’s raining.  I fucking hate Ohio,” she finally says.

“LA’s not going anywhere, babe.  Just—deal with this the right way, won’t you?  Maybe then you’ll be ready to, I don’t know, date someone in a serious way.  I mean, not that I don’t love watching you awkwardly flirt with Britt, but…” Santana says, sounding amused.

“Not my fault you married a hottie,” Quinn says, and closes her eyes.

“Get your own, Fabray.”

Santana hangs up without anything else, and Quinn stares at the glare on her laptop; and the e-mail there from Jesse, saying,  _Lunch was great; it’s not often that I get to dine with someone else who knows how to eat without resorting to bovine levels of mastication._

It feels like an invitation even though it isn’t one, and she sends back an email before she can sober up enough to regret doing it.

*

Night time drinks in Akron are funny; she’s completely overdressed, as she always is for Ohio these days, but then so is Jesse, in his dress shirt with suspenders and his neatly pressed slacks. 

They look like they’re going to a 1930s movie premiere unwillingly, and he smiles and takes her arm before ordering them both a beer from the tap.  That sort of breaks the spell, but he toasts her anyway and says, “To being the most attractive people in this city by some distance.”

She laughs and says, “I’m not drinking to that.”

“I’ll find a way to convince you, if  _eyesight_  isn’t enough,” he says, and then settles his hand around her lower back to guide her to a booth.

It’s weird that she doesn’t mind, much.  It’s  _nice_  that that’s all it is—some guidance.

*

They’re five drinks in when she caves a little.

“Tell me about her.”

He runs a hand through his hair and then shakes his head.  “That’s cheating.”

“Cheating  _how_?”

“Look, Quinn—if you want a relationship with her, it’s going to take time and you’ll have to work hard at it.  And it’s going to suck.  I know how it works for people like you and me; a smile and a bat of the eyelashes and people eat out of our hands, right?”  He smiles grimly and then says, “Except there comes a time when that’s not good enough.  And then all you have left is the fact that at least you looked  _good_  while screwing everything up.”

“Are we still talking about me?” she asks, carefully.  He has a point, but she’s a few too many sheets to the wind to really think about that.

His hair is messy, because he keeps playing with it, and he sort of sighs and shrugs at the same time.  It’s possibly the most human she’s ever seen him.  “Shelby hasn’t told you?”

“Nope.  Said to get it from the horse.”

“I highly doubt she called me a horse,” Jesse says, dryly.  “Equine beauty, maybe.”

She bursts out laughing and he grins at her, and yeah.  It’s been a while since Aaron, even, and it’s always been soft liquor that’s led to her worst decision-making.

“Do you have worrying amounts of man pain about not making it to Broadway?” she asks, because being a bitch is still better than actually _seriously_  contemplating making out with Jesse St. James, fifth grade teacher and up-himself douche.

“More about following a girl there only to be told that I, too, was too ‘Ohio’ for her,” he says, after a moment of pausing.  “It’s funny.  The classic juxtaposition of beauty versus talent indicates that really, you should’ve been McKinley’s resident heartbreaker… but it was always her, wasn’t it.”

“Rachel’s a bitch,” Quinn says, because she’s drunk and it’s not like she hasn’t wanted to say it for years.  “Doesn’t talk to any of us anymore.  Not like we were friends, but still.  Kurt keeps us posted on her success.  Santana still has a voodoo doll.  Sometimes we get drunk and play with it.”

“My God, how drunk are you?” Jesse asks, sounding equal parts concerned and amused.

“Drunker than I was when I got pregnant,” she admits, and then laughs at herself.  “I’m having drinks with Jesse St. James, who is in love with this girl I still want to shove off a bridge, and my child hates me.  This has been a great week.”

“Just one week, huh?” Jesse says, before slipping out of the booth and holding out Quinn’s coat for her to slip into.

“Great  _life_ ,” she amends, letting him tug the coat onto her arms.  “It’s just not right.  I should have a seriously attractive husband and three children and be on Oprah for being that amazing.”

“Oprah’s not on anymore, babe,” Jesse says, and then that hand is back at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd and out the door.

The cold air bites at her face, and she almost fans at it, which will accomplish exactly nothing.  Jesse looks amused anyway.

“I’ll call you a cab,” he says, and wanders a few steps down and makes a quick phone call.  

She doesn’t stare at his ass the entire time he’s doing it; that’s just her drunken eyes.

They stand around silently while waiting for the cab, and Jesse opens the door for her this time; but only because she tries twice and misses the handle both times.

Then, he leans down and says, “For the record: I  _was_  in love with her.  Things change.”

It comes out serious and honest, and she blinks at him a few times. Yeah, there’s that urge to scoot over (or fall over onto her side, whatever) and take him back to the hotel with her; but then there’s also that urge to not screw up her daughter’s life even more, so—

“Rachel Berry is a fucking  _moron_ ,” she tells him, almost without slurring.

“I know, right?” he agrees, with a sigh.

What an  _asshole_.

*

There’s something really wrong about contemplating masturbating out while still wearing most of your clothes and thinking about the smug little smile and fine  _ass_  on your arch-nemesis tragic ex-boyfriend with a secret soul or whatever, but Quinn finds that she can’t really bring herself to care about what a bad call it is until she attempts to unbutton her jeans and promptly falls off the bed altogether.

Then, she just laughs.  Jesse would’ve found it funny, too.

*

The reality of her visit, though, is that she’s not there for Jesse, or to dredge up the past of her eternal hate-on for Rachel Berry, but instead is supposed to be deciding on how she wants to help fix this ten year old she’s brought into the world.

It seems like there are choices: she can disappear and never look back, but if that was a choice to be made she should’ve made it a decade ago.  Now, all she can do is try to man up and remember she likes kids and they like her. Micah and Rose adore her; she spoils them rotten and genuinely enjoys the weekends when Santana and Brittany drop them off and go off gallivanting around California, having sex in weird new places or whatever they do to keep their marriage so perfect.

So, she tries something new; she shows up at Shelby’s and says, “Can I take her out to lunch?”

Shelby doesn’t hide her surprise very well, and then just looks relieved.  “It won’t be the most pleasant experience of your life.”

“I think I deserve that,” Quinn says, quietly, and wonders if this maybe was a bad idea given how hungover she is.  She already has a headache, and children are like buzzards when it comes to weakness.

A few moments of muted hissing and whispering back and forth, and Beth is in front of her in her jeggings and army jacket, looking for all the world like a sullen lesbian hipster child.

“You’re vegetarian, right?” Quinn asks.

When Beth just stares at her, clearly unimpressed, Shelby nods behind her and Quinn sighs.  “Okay, so—Chipotle?”

She’s not honestly obsessed.  There’s just one around the corner from her apartment in LA, and cooking for one is just a waste of time.

“Whatever,” Beth mumbles.

Off to a great start already.

*

She’s never spent this much time in awkward silence.  Beth is picking at her veggie burrito bowl and refusing to answer any questions with more than one word answers, which is completely sabotaging Quinn’s legitimate plan to actually try to get to  _know_  her.  The one thing she’s finding out is that Beth may have inherited Puck’s penchant for trouble, but the grudge-holding and ability to maintain stoic silence?  Yeah.  That’s closer to home.

Her savior arrives unexpectedly, wearing amazingly dramatic sunglasses and for once looking like he actually just pulled on the nearest thing and ran over.

Maybe Shelby called him.

“Sup, B,” he says, before sliding in the seat next to Beth’s and nudging her with his elbow.

“Sup, Mr. St. James,” she says, with a grin.

“How does that work?” Quinn asks, knowing she’s screwing with their easy dynamic. “I mean, being her teacher and all.”

“She acts like she doesn’t know me or like me,” Jesse says, with a fond little smile.

“It’s not  _acting,_ ” Beth says, because apparently with Jesse around, it’s easier to forget that she hates Quinn and isn’t talking to her.

“Of course it is, because you’re an amazingly talented actress and you’re going to go places with that. Look at your face; how could you not?” Jesse asks, grabbing Beth by the chin in a way that feels entirely like a habitual joke; Beth slaps at his arm with a giggle and then they both peer at her with identical expressions.

“Is that something you want?  To become an actress?” Quinn asks, because honestly—that weird rush of emotion at seeing Beth  _happy_  is just something she’s not ready to deal with.  

Beth shrugs and goes back to her food, but actually eats some of it this time.

Quinn gratefully drinks some more coffee and then glances at Jesse.

“Big sis’s footsteps, huh,” he just says, before messing up Beth’s hair.

“ _Not the hair,_ ” she hisses at him, and then stares back at Quinn.  “You went to school with her, didn’t you?”

Great.  The first real conversation Beth’s instigated since she got to Akron, and it’s about Rachel.

“Yeah,” Quinn just says.

“Was she always super talented?” Beth asks, and there’s such undisguised hero worship there that it actually hurts.  Rachel might not be a mentioned name in the Corcoran household, but it’s clear who Beth has chosen as her role model.

It stings, that, and Jesse seems to pick up on it because he says, “Of course she was.  Though—she always did say that the best thing she ever sang, next to all of her duets with me, of course, was a duet with Quinn.”

Beth tilts her head and it’s such a Puck thing to do that Quinn feels another pang of something.  “I have some of the old competition stuff.  Is it on there?”

Quinn smiles faintly and says, “No.  It was just a class assignment.  We had to sing about—things we were insecure about.”

“That’s a stupid assignment,” Beth says, and then looks like she’s bracing herself for a sharp comeback.

Quinn just says, “Yeah, it was.”

“Is this when she was considering her nose job?” Jesse asks.

Quinn nods.

“Why would she get a nose job?  She’s already super pretty,” Beth says, with a frown.

“She didn’t. She was just thinking about it,” Quinn says, and then bites her lip and says, “But I’ve had one.”

“Really?” Beth asks, and Quinn watches with a bit of wonder as her hand seems to drift towards her own nose without her even noticing.

“Yeah.  I wasn’t always this—” she starts to say, and then stops talking abruptly, because what is she— _Jesse_?

He’s looking at her curiously, and then smiles when she catches his eye.

“You won’t ever need one, though. You have your dad’s nose,” she tells Beth.

Beth grins for just a flash, obviously without meaning to, but then seems to remember who she’s with, and shoves her food away from her.

“I’m done.  Can we go now?”

Quinn sighs.  “Sure.”

Jesse gets up and gives her an encouraging shoulder pat.  “It’ll get easier.”

“Yeah, she’s only like, halfway idolizing a girl I tormented for years; I’m sure finding out the truth about that will go over easier.”

Jesse smiles and they both watch as Beth stomps out of the restaurant and waits by the rental.  “Well, if you think it’ll help, I’m willing to tell her that I once egged her sister right before an important competition to psych her out,” he says, dryly.

“You were such a bastard,” Quinn tells him.

He smiles crookedly and says, “Don’t worry.  When I break out the eggs these days, it’s for breakfast the morning after.”

She has absolutely  _no_  comeback to that, and he laughs at her with a wink before saying, “Call me later.  We’ll go out drinking again; show Ohio that inner beauty’s a load of bull some more.”

She’s absolutely  _not_  charmed by him in the slightest.  He’s about as attractive as an enema, she reminds herself, and then looks at Beth.

“Uncle Jesse belongs with Rachel,” Beth says, in her least amused tone of voice yet.

“Rachel broke Uncle Jesse’s heart,” Quinn says, and then adds, “And anyway—I’m not trying to get with Uncle Jesse.  I’m here for  _you_.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Beth says, before climbing into the passenger seat and slamming it shut.

It still counts as progress, sort of.

*

It’s the fourth round this time, when she starts fantasizing about his lips.  And his hips, maybe; he always was a fantastic dancer, and she thinks she knows him well enough by now to understand that that hasn’t changed even if his life ambitions have.

“Take me dancing sometime,” she says, before she can stop herself.  Hey, it’s better than  _show me how your hips move_ , which—yeah.

“Sure,” he says, easily enough, and then smiles at her all cheekily.  “Is this you telling me you like me?”

“Hardly.  I also danced with Finn Hudson for years,” she reminds him.

“Yeah, about that. Some part of me always wondered if you were a lesbian, because—honestly,” Jesse says, twirling the little stick in his drink around with a finger, lazily, and she’s watching his hand more than listening to his words.

When they finally sink in, she chokes on absolutely nothing, and then he’s behind her, patting her on the back and laughingly telling her to breathe because he doesn’t want to be having drinks with a very attractive  _corpse_.

“You keep telling me I’m attractive,” she says, when she’s managed to start breathing normally again, a good minute later.  Then she squints at him, and says, “Why?”

“Because it’s true,” he says, and then leans in to her ear.  “And because I find that it’s a good way of getting girls to sleep with me.”

“You’re repugnant,” she says.  So what if she’s blushing?

“To be fair,” he says, lowly.  “I don’t usually  _mean_  it.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m sleeping with you after this,” she tells him.

He spins back around the table and sits down across from her again, planting his chin in his hand and batting his eyelashes at her.  “I don’t sleep with drunk girls.”

“I’m also not a  _girl,_ you condescending jerk.”

“Woman, then,” he amends, no fuss, and then grins at her in a way that—yeah, okay.  She really needs to get laid. 

“I’ve never really understood the appeal of the MILF before, but—”

“I would advise you to stop talking, because I’m not so drunk that I can’t kick you in the balls.”

He laughs.  “Why weren’t we friends in high school?”

“Because you were dating someone I can’t stand to this day when you weren’t busy trying to sabotage my club or telling my boyfriend he was an oaf,” she says, but she knows she’s smiling.

“Oh, right. That,” he says, and picks up both of their empty glasses and refills them.

This time, he catches her staring at his ass, and just clenches it for a moment before winking at her.

She’s  _mortified._ And, oh yeah, super horny.

*

Getting her pants off goes better this time.

She’s never really gotten off while thinking about someone  _talking_  to her, but every asshole comment that falls from Jesse St. James’ lips these days has somehow found a direct connection to her — uh, bits, and the mere idea of him demanding that she tell him just how fucking  _good_  he is in bed is enough to tip of her over.

They’ve finally exchanged numbers, and she almost has a heart attack when five minutes after she’s washed her hands and gotten into bed, her phone buzzes.

 _Was that enough foreplay for you?  It was for me_.

Of course he doesn’t use text speak, and of course she finds that attractive.

And yeah, he’s probably just fishing (unless he’s lying in the dark outside of her room with binoculars, and she’s not that paranoid), but then because he’s completely right, she takes a deep breath and sends back,

 _This is a bad idea, and I’m here for Beth._

She lies in the dark and in utter silence for another minute, and then glances at the lit-up screen on her iPhone.

 _Sweetheart, we both know that what you just did had nothing to do with Beth.  Sometimes, you can do what you need to and get what you want at the same time._

Of  _course_  he texts her with bastardized song lyrics that just  _happen_  to be a callback to this stupid showchoir competition they both once competed in, which is probably a roundabout way of him telling her that he was paying attention to her back then, even though that’s a blatant lie.

What an  _asshole_.

*

She almost feels like she’s going to confession the next day; and she kind of is, because Beth and Shelby go to Sunday service.

She hasn’t set foot in a church since her junior year of high school, and even then she only went to support Sam during a difficult time.  Actually having faith?  Well, that stopped a lot earlier.

She watches Beth go through the same motions she went through for so many years, and it’s shocking how complete the indoctrination is; she doesn’t have to think about any of it.  The words and the hand gestures come automatically.

What does surprise her is Jesse pulling up in front of the church in a done-up old Mustang, and popping the passenger seat open for Beth.

“We get pancakes at IHOP afterwards; it’s the only way she’ll still come,” Shelby says.

Quinn puts her sunglasses back on, even though it’s overcast, and slides into the seat behind him so that they can’t make eye contact.

It almost works.

*

Beth slathers her pancake in so much syrup that Quinn laughs unwillingly.

“What?” Beth asks, caustic as ever.

“Nothing, just—you don’t get that sweet tooth from me.”  She hesitates for a moment and then asks, “When I was pregnant with you, all I wanted to eat was bacon.”

Jesse and Shelby laugh simultaneously.  “We don’t mention that word,” he says, and Shelby says, “Ooh boy.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” Beth says, and then sighs.  “And every time I smell bacon it’s  _so bad_ , I just want to give up.  But I don’t want to kill the pigs.”

Quinn smiles and says, “It’s okay.  I haven’t eaten any since then, either.”

Beth doesn’t glance away quite so quickly this time, and Quinn feels like she’s finally done something right.

*

She picks up the tab for lunch, and Jesse lingers while Beth and Shelby go to the bathroom to wash their hands.

“So.  Since you’re paying, does this count as a date?” he asks.

“With my kid and her adoptive mother?” Quinn asks, brushing past him.

His hand skims past her ass, and she whips around—but before she can tell him to stop being a jerk, he says, “You’re doing the right thing.  With Beth.  I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, ever.  But this thing, between us?  It’s  _going_  to happen.”

“Always so sure of yourself.  Is this what you said to Rachel right before she threw you out like yesterday’s garbage?” Quinn asks, sharply.

His face falls and he doesn’t even bother trying to cover it up; then, his eyes narrow and his jaw sets, and he says, “Actually, no.  What I said to Rachel was that I would never get in the way of her dreams, but I would be there to support her in her desire to achieve them every step of the way, for however long she wanted me.”

Quinn lowers her eyes.  “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I’m not going to try anything in front of Beth, don’t worry,” Jesse says, coolly.  “But I have to say, you’re a lot more attractive when you don’t take your insecurities out on me.”

“Jesse—” she says, again, but he just shakes his head and heads outside.

 _Shit,_ she thinks, and then puts on her best game face for when they’re joined by others.  It’s too late to pretend there  _isn’t_ a thing; but she can at least work on keeping it separate from Beth, who  _has_  to matter more.

*

It’s a little stalkery, what she’s doing.  There’s probably laws against adults pulling up next to a primary school just to watch the teachers at recess, but until someone tells her to stop it, she figures that just this once, it’s probably all right.

Jesse is herding a group of girls and boys together into pairs, and then starts demonstrating an easy dance move somewhere in the corner of the yard; and she watches as the kids start doing it and he moves around them easily, laughing and helping them, and genuinely just—

This isn’t the same guy who captained Vocal Adrenaline for years, and she’s really been selling him short.

Then again, she’s not still a stupid seventeen year old who just wants a tiara, either, so maybe they owe it to each other to start over.

*

He lives in a simple apartment complex in the next suburb over from Shelby, and she doesn’t really know what she’s expecting; tiger print on a rotating bed, maybe, but she knows she’s being ridiculous.

“I assume you’re here to apologize,” he says, lounging in the doorway.  He has this amazing ability to lean against things like they were built for him.  She’s done pretending it’s not sexy.

“Yes,” she says, simply.  “It was a low blow.  You’ve had plenty of opportunities to drive nails into my weak spots, and you haven’t.  I’m—normally not this petty anymore.”

“It upsets you, how much you want me,” he says, casually.

She doesn’t say anything, and then he reaches for her hand and says, “Forget about how many ways this could screw everything up.  Sometimes, the best thing to do is to just sleep with your daughter’s fifth grade teacher and worry about what it means tomorrow.”

“Is that a saying?” she says, trying not to smile.

The door shuts behind her, and next thing she knows, he’s easing her up against it—smooth and slow, like it’s a dance.

“If you plan on using it, attribute it accordingly,” he says, his eyes smiling; she can’t see his lips, because he’s leaning in too closely, and then she closes her eyes and lets him kiss her.

*

She can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to dance with him during those few months when he was in glee at McKinley.

Everything about him is about easy grace and motion.  His hand shifts from the small of her back, when he’s ushering her to his bedroom (and there’s no lion print in sight; not even satin, actually, and that  _does_  surprise her), to the zipper at the top of her dress.  She’s out of it before she can even stop to think about whether or not she wants to move this fast, but honestly—they’re not teenagers anymore, and she’s not a virgin.

“Stunning,” he tells her, and it’s one of those rare times when she believes it—he’s pushing her backwards onto the bed and she’s still wearing her underwear, but that feels deliberate and sensual.  He strips off his turtleneck sweater and his jeans without fanfare, and then says, “Really; I’ll do what I can to not mark you, because it would be a shame.”

Her eyes widen and then he just sort of laughs at her again and says, “Oh, relax.  I thought they were more liberal on the west coast.  You’re not actually scandalized by the idea of a hickey, are you?”

“I’m just processing the awkward flashbacks I’m getting to watching action movies with Finn in the Lima theater,” she says, smiling.

He laughs and kneels next to her, running a casual hand up her leg and then her torso, before finally cupping her face.  “Believe me, you won’t be thinking of Finn Hudson again other than to laugh at him after this.”

“You are just so—” she starts to say, not even sure if she’s annoyed or amused anymore, and then he kisses her again, gently plying her lips apart with his tongue.  One of her hands reaches for his arm, tugging until he settles on her more fully—she likes it, the full weight of someone else pressing her into the mattress, forcefully reminding her that she’s not alone—as the other reaches up for his hair and tangles in it.

It’s exactly as luscious and soft as it looks, and Jesse makes an approving noise when she starts running her fingers through it.  It’s hard to focus on much else when Jesse’s lips have shifted towards her neck, and—

“Oh,” she says, when he bites down unexpectedly and then sucks on her skin, in a spot that literally has her breaking out in goosebumps all over. 

“Whoops,” he whispers in her ear.  “Your own fault.  You taste delicious.”

Her fantasies about him were ridiculously accurate; with every bit of her skin that he pays attention to, he feels the need to tell her how it feels and what he likes about it, and he likes a  _lot_.  She’s breathing heavy before he’s even so much as taken her bra off, and then when he does, his thumb skating past a nipple, she moans embarrassingly loudly.

“Yeah,” he just says, looking up at her briefly.  As verbose and arrogant as he normally is, now he’s just dealing in facts.  When he says, “Hard or soft?” after brushing his tongue just past, but not on her nipple, she realizes that this is actually completely about  _her_ , no matter how much everything else he does is about him.

“Hard,” she says, closing her eyes and tugging on his hair a little more when he complies, biting down on her nipple before soothing it with his tongue and some gentle suction.

God, he’s good at this.  He shifts back up when her breasts actually start to hurt a little, and kisses her more deeply than before; she digs her free hand into his back unwillingly and then groans when he hisses and bites down on her lip.

His hips are undulating against her, and she can feel how hard he is—but he’s showing absolutely no signs of picking up the pace; like he’s content to just keep necking like teenagers forever, rounding second base with no promise of more.  Maybe he needs a sign that he can have whatever he likes, and before she can question herself too much, her hand is skimming down his side and slipping underneath his boxers.

“God, I don’t know about the custom in LA, but in Ohio it’s polite to give a guy some warning,” he sort of grits out when she wraps her fingers around his cock, but then he laughs at the look on her face and says, “Just kidding, do what you want.”

It’s so weird to see him like this, staring at her with a look of intense concentration, and for once not really thinking about anything, let alone what she’s doing to his hair.  He’s holding himself up on almost trembling arms, and then bites his lip when she starts stroking him with a bit more purpose.

He closes his eyes and drops his forehead to her shoulder, and this is intoxicating; the idea that she’s reducing the world’s smuggest bastard to a shaking mess, aimlessly thrusting forwards towards her fingers—yeah.  She’s feeling pretty good about herself, except that she misses completely that his own hand is tugging down her panties until it’s already happened, and then there are sure, knowing fingers circling her clit, and she gasps so loudly that the sound echoes through the room.

“This is so fucking hot,” he tells her, panting a little, and she knows it’s just a statement of fact.  His cheeks are flushed and the jerk in his hips is a bit more erratic, and she knows her own hips aren’t helping him keep it together at all; grinding up into his fingers, her legs spreading automatically when two of them slip down and play around her entrance.

“Do it,” she says, and he cranes forward and kisses her again.  He’s good at that, too, fingers immediately curving upwards, and her own hand stills when she starts to feel too good; Jesse’s cock just pulses beneath her fingers even as she starts to throb around his, and then it’s over too quickly.  She’s out of practice, and his fumbling thumb, just barely brushing past her clit, knocks her right over without warning.

He looks a little smug at that, tugging her hand out of his boxers and shucking them a moment later. “Good start?” he asks, and she’s still clenching around his fingers, wondering if he’s even going to give her a break before they go at it again.

“I’ve had worse,” she finally just says, taking another deep breath and closing her eyes.

“My God, Quinn,” he says, and it sounds almost admiring.  “If this is your way of ensuring I’m going to keep going until you are literally screaming my name….”

Her eyes flutter back open.  “Please.  As if that wasn’t your goal anyway.”

“My name  _is_  kind of made for it,” he agrees, half-smiling at her, and really, what a clever bastard—she doesn’t even notice his fingers pulling out or his cock pressing up against her until he’s basically already inside her, in one smooth, solid stretch.

The only other time she’s seen him look  _this_  blissful is right at the end of his performance at Nationals her sophomore year—and if  _that’s_  not a compliment, she doesn’t know what would be.

*

To put it as Santana would:

He fucks her  _brains_  out. After the third orgasm she can’t string a full sentence together anymore, and when he slips down to lie between her legs and bring her to a gentle, tongue-first fourth, she literally has to beg him to stop.  (Name-first, obviously, because she knows he wasn’t kidding about wanting to hear it and honestly, he’s  _earned_  it by that point.)

She can barely move, and then blinks in surprise when he slips out of bed and returns half a minute later with a Carmel High t-shirt and a glass of water, naked as the day and looking completely at ease with it.

She wishes it was that easy for her, but maybe she can learn by osmosis; either way, he’s pegged her correctly, and she pulls the t-shirt on before taking the water from him and carefully drinking some.

“If we start dating,” he says, after a long pause, “we need to tell Beth, so that she’s aware of the fact that it’s separate.  That’s not about you, mind.  That’s—about me.  I’m in her life in ways you aren’t, and—”

“ _If_?” Quinn finally just says, cutting him off.  “Do I strike you as the kind of girl—”

“Woman,” he corrects her, and she laughs softly.

“ _Woman_ … who engages in one night stands?”

Jesse shrugs and takes the water from her, taking a long sip before putting it on his night stand.  “You live on the other side of the country.  You’ve been to Ohio five times in the last ten years.  I obviously like you, but I don’t have much interest in long distance relationships when it’s just as likely that I can find someone here to sleep with, so—”

“Oh,  _thanks,_ ” she says, before she can help herself.  She’s already halfway out the bed when his hand on her shoulder stops her.

“I don’t spill my guts much anymore.  You can thank Rachel for that,” he says, and it’s possibly the most genuine thing he’s ever said to her.  “But—I’m willing to try to work something out, here.  I just don’t want Beth to get caught in the crossfire.”

She sighs and feels her shoulders slump.  “I guess it’s too much to hope for the idea that dating Uncle Jesse will win me some points with her, huh?”

“Show her you’re not just going to up and leave her again, and I don’t think you’ll need to worry about points,” Jesse says, before tugging on her.  “And, come here.  I know you’ve covered them up, but I still have every intention of staring at your tits until they leave my apartment, so—”

What an  _asshole_ , she thinks, and laughs when he presses her backwards onto the mattress and hovers over her Spider-man style, all wild hair and smug smiles, before he kisses her.

*

She takes Beth to the local ice rink two days later.

Beth  _almost_  seems like she’s ready to have a conversation after two rounds around the ice, and Quinn buys them both some cocoa and pushes forward.

“I didn’t want to make things hard _for you_ ,” she says, without looking at Beth.  “It’s weird enough to be adopted.  It’s weirder if your birth mother is in your life all the time.  So I wanted you to have as normal a life as you could, and—wanting to hear about you from your mom was me being selfish. It wasn’t me being  _lazy_.  Either way, I understand now that it was stupid and we could’ve had … a relationship.   _Should_ have had, even.”

Beth says nothing for a long moment, and Quinn drinks some of her cocoa in silence.

“If you had me now, and not when you were sixteen, would you—would you have kept me?” Beth finally asks, sounding small and insecure and all those other things that Quinn remembers so  _clearly_  about being her age that it’s like she left Lima yesterday, and not years ago.

“Yes.  Absolutely,” she says, and takes a chance.

She reaches for Beth’s hand, and tries not to sigh in relief when Beth lets her grab it, even if she’s not squeezing back much.

“My favorite movie is  _Beauty and the Beast_ ,” Beth finally says, and then offers a small smile.  “Mom says that it was your favorite, too.”

The tears in her eyes are thankfully explained away by the fact that the outside air is stinging them like crazy, and Quinn nods a few times before saying, “Yeah.  Can you keep a secret?”

Beth nods, serious as she’s ever been, and Quinn feels so fucking grateful that it’s a miracle she doesn’t fall apart completely.

“It’s  _still_  my favorite,” she says,softly, and then winks at Beth.

Beth laughs and says, “That’s kind of lame.”

“Yeah, well,” Quinn says, and closes the door on a whole lot of her personal history with a sense of tremendous relief.  “I guess my real secret is that  _I’m_ kind of lame.”

*

She calls Santana a week later, and says, “Can you … maybe help me start subletting my apartment?”

“Um,” Santana says, and then there’s a lot of silence on the line.  “Not that I want to question your judgment, but—it’s one thing to help Beth get her stuff together, and it’s another to actually try to co-parent with Shelby.”

“I’m not,” Quinn says, and looks at her laptop and the various tabs open there; three real estate agents in Pittsburgh; Google Maps; and a half-written email to her boss.  “I’m … thinking about moving to Pennsylvania.”

Santana says nothing again, and then just sighs.  “You’re going to need to give me a lot more than that.”

“I’m…” Quinn says, and then laughs at herself a little.  “You’re right.  This is a ridiculous thing for me to contemplate, and it’s  _really_  not my thing to take such big decisions on an almost ad hoc basis, but—every single part of it feels like the right step forward.”

“Did you finally get laid or something?” Santana asks, sharply.  “Because I know an orgasm is worth a thousand words, but it’s not worth moving cross-country for.  To  _Pittsburgh_ , of all places.  Jesus, Quinn.”

“I’m going to pretend you said none of that and ask that you just trust my judgment.  I’m needed here, even if it’s not on a co-parenting basis.  There’s people here who—”

“ _We_  need you,” Santana says, and Quinn smiles faintly at the rough sentimentalism in her voice.

“No, you don’t.  You have each other, and we all know that it’s not  _good_  for me to use that as a substitute for something of my own.”

“ _Pittsburgh,_ ” Santana says again, not arguing the point.  “I hope you know I’m never, ever fucking visiting you there.”

“Noted,” Quinn says, and then feels another stab of relief when Santana just sighs and asks what she has in mind for rent for her place.

*

They’re having Thai take-out on his sofa, and he’s talking her through the better aspects of Streisand but why he’d take a Cary Grant movie over a musical any day now.  It’s something like their twelfth date, or so, and she’s just about reaching the point where staying at the Raddison any longer becomes economically unsustainable.  It’s been three weeks, and many more nights—that’s how it feels anyway—and if anything, what she appreciates about Jesse is the complete lack of filter.  When he wants to have sex, he just says so; and when he needs her to get out of his hair for a while, he also just says  _that_.

She finds that it’s more habit that actual offense that has her huffing at him on her way out, and the third time he gives her the brush off, she doesn’t even bother rolling her eyes at him.  He fucks her on her way out as a literal “thanks for not being crazy”, and then she’s patted on her ass and ushered out of his apartment the rest of the way.

She has no idea how she’s going to tell her friends that this thing with Jesse is, in fact, a  _factor_  in her decision-making process (even if it’s not the deciding one), and she also has no idea how she’s going to tell Jesse, because really: everyone is going to react poorly to this.

In the end, she just pours them both a scotch—from a bottle that somehow spontaneously appeared in his apartment last week—and sits down across from him on the coffee table.  “We need to talk for a moment.”

The rest of it just falls out, unrehearsed and honest, and she feels hopelessly exposed afterwards.

Jesse is unusually silent after she outlines her plans, and it makes her weirdly nervous; nervous enough for her nerves to show, which they basically don’t  _ever_.

Next thing, she’ll start babbling.  What is she,  _Rachel_?

“I’ve been considering giving acting another go lately,” he says, finally; he sounds distance and is in fact staring off into space.  “I don’t have many great memories of LA, but I wasn’t there long enough to have a substantial number of  _bad_  ones, and so…”

He trails off, and Quinn tries to not wring her hands together; they’re flat next to her, wrenching into the coffee table instead.  “So..”

“So, we’re thinking along similar lines,” he says, and then glances at her.  “I didn’t expect you’d be comfortable being so close to, well, home.”

“There’s a reason I’m thinking about Pittsburgh and not Cleveland,” she admits, “but you know what the real reason is that I won’t be going back to LA.  Not for the coming few years, anyway.”

He smiles faintly and says, “Not that I wouldn’t be flattered if you were in fact demented enough to move cross-country because I’m the best sex you’ve ever had…”

She rolls her eyes at him.  “ _And_  there’s the added factor that you are the first guy I’ve met in years that I don’t want to stab with a fork after the third date…”

“Clearly I’m not trying hard enough, then,” he says, and this time his smile is real.

“I want to give all of this a chance.  LA will still be there when Beth’s all grown up, and who knows; they might have theaters in Pittsburgh.”

“Not ones worthy of me,” he says, confidently, getting up in one smooth motion and pulling her to her feet as well.  “But I appreciate the misguided thought nonetheless.”

“I can’t believe I think you’re charming, you conceited prick,” she says to him.

He laughs and says, “It’s funny; neither can I, but I’m not about to question it.”

“You’re lucky you have such great hair,” she says.

“Best hair in Akron,” he says, and then his smile tweaks a bit until she knows he’s about to say something he means.  “When you’re not around, anyway.”

*

It’s a two hour drive, and they all start making it regularly.

Relationship-wise it’s not ideal, because Jesse isn’t a great talker so much as a great seducer—always fond of the big gesture dates, dragging her across town to the opera or some weird beer tasting event in a dive on the East side of town—but they make it work, trekking up and down on weekends that are filled with quick, stolen kisses in Shelby’s hallway, lazy breakfasts in bed and oh yeah:  _mind-blowing_  sex.

She’s smug enough about the latter part to actually spill a few details to Santana over the phone when she’s drunk and lonely one night, and when even Santana’s only response is, “ _Damn,_ girl”, she’s almost  _Jesse_  levels of smugly pleased about it.

It’s not ideal, but it’s so much better than the alternative, and she tells him as much late one night, when he’s almost dozing off next to her, one mildly possessive arm slung over her ribs.

“Duh.  A little me is so much more than a lot of everyone else,” he says, without opening his eyes.

“Asshole,” she tells him, and curves into his side to fall asleep within minutes.

*

It’s six months later when Beth sleeps over for the first time, and the morning after the most sickeningly sweet-filled sleepover (with requisite watching of  _Beauty and the Beast_ ), Quinn is surprised in the kitchen by Beth holding a can of hairspray.

“Why is Uncle Jesse’s hair stuff here?” she asks, because she’s eleven now and under the impression that everything is her business.

The offending item is held up accusingly.  And yeah, Jesse’s hair care set is a regular gift from  Shelby and Beth for Christmas.  No point denying it.

Quinn takes a deep breath and says, “He must’ve left it when he slept over last.”

Beth gives her an assessing look.  “Why does he sleep over?”

“We like to braid each other’s hair,” Quinn says, because honestly—someone needs to teach this kid about boundaries.

“His hair isn’t  _long enough_  to be braided,” Beth counters, fiery, and Quinn smiles unwillingly.

Maybe there is just no avoiding this conversation.  “You’re right.  I was kidding.  Your … uncle and I have been dating.  We’ve not told anyone because we wanted to see if we liked each other enough first, but yeah.  Sometimes he sleeps over..”

Beth processes this for a few seconds, and Quinn wonders about her frame of reference; does Shelby even date?  Has she ever brought someone home?

“I’m going to have to stop calling him Uncle Jesse, aren’t I,” Beth finally says.  “Because my uncle dating my mother—that’s just  _weird_.”

The mind of an eleven year old is a mysterious thing; Quinn’s grateful for it for once.  “You can just call him Jesse, just like you can call me Quinn.  He’s not your teacher anymore, so I’m sure that would work for all of us.”

Beth nods after a moment, and then fixes Quinn with a threatening look.  “You better not move to LA without him, okay?  That’s what Rachel did, and he was super sad for years.”

Quinn bites her lip and tries to come up with a response.  Finally, the truth seems like the simplest thing.

“If I  _ever_  move back to LA, it’ll be to support Unc—to support Jesse when he’s finally ready to try and become a professional singer.  And honestly, it probably won’t ever happen at all, because… I don’t want to live that far away from you again.”

Beth’s expression doesn’t change—and it makes Quinn realize just how torturous her own poker-face skills are—but then she bursts across the room, dropping the hair spray, and hugs the hell out of Quinn.

“You suck a lot less now.  It’s because of him, isn’t it?” Beth mumbles against her waist.

“Nah. It’s because I decided to stop sucking,” Quinn says, pressing a tentative kiss to Beth’s head.

When Beth just laughs and then says, “Jesse uses more hair stuff than most girls I know; how weird is that?”, Quinn feels a burst of happiness spike in her chest, and she holds onto it the best she can.

Maybe Jesse St. James  _is_  some kind of weird oracle, and maybe she’s finally getting a break after years of bad karma; this feels pretty close to getting what she wants  _and_  what she needs all at once.

  




End file.
